short-stories

For me, the short story is not a character sketch, a mouse trap, an epiphany, a slice of suburban life. It is the flowering of a symbol center. It is a poem grafted onto sturdier stock.

Short story collections are the literary equivalent of canapés, tapas and mezze in the world of gastronomy: Delightful assortments of tasty morsels to whet the reader's appetite.

The dollar bills attached to her hips fluttered to the rug of the small square stage, like the first flakes of winter in the Bronx. (Dark City Lights)

I__l give you one chance to run,but may your shoulder always whisper in your ear__t__ best to watch out for men, like me.

She had a new secret, the strenght of the moon, looking at her

Dunce is completely bald and has a really pointed head so the temptation to get him paralytic on his thirtieth birthday, carry him to the tattooist__ and get a nice big ___ smack bang in the middle of his forehead was too much for me. Trouble is he can__ afford to have it removed so he wears a big plaster over it. Gangs of children tease him.__hat__ underneath the plaster, mister? Show us!__hey swear he has a third eye under there. My name is Bill but Dunce calls me __ez_ on account of my hat. I__e known Dunce for over sixteen years.

The time groaned by as John made a fool of himself. Eventually, he grew numb to the death and sin around him. He even came to enjoy gallivanting cross-country like a true crusader. His name brought tears of joy or pain of anger to those he left in his wake. The result of his own unresolved pain.

I read your diary. I KNOW

You are in love with my husband. You need some acting lessons to learn to hide it better.

That woman must have been a husky in a previous life.

A shrink and a patient in a love-hate relationship. Who is REALLY the boss?

All that sweetness makes me feel weird. My sister was never the loving type.

There's comfort in a life lived in circles and its careful, sloping lines.

I worked all day in back ofa hot van snipping off dog balls, I can cut one more pair. (Dark City Lights)

Sometimes I wonder which is worse: "To have to kill because it is your job, or to have no remorse for all the murderous things you have done?

Sometimes I wonder which is worse: To have to kill because it is your job, or to have no remorse for all the murderous things you have done?

A short story is a sprint, a novel is a marathon. Sprinters have seconds to get from here to there and then they are finished. Marathoners have to carefully pace themselves so that they don't run out of energy (or in the case of the novelist-- ideas) because they have so far to run. To mix the metaphor, writing a short story is like having a short intense affair, whereas writing a novel is like a long rich marriage.

A shrink and a patient switching places. Who is REALLY the boss?